The Human Blasphemy
by TheGhostisReal
Summary: About nothing, the kind of nothing that changes everything. About resting, thinking, realizations and a very ugly cat with a very fitting name. Kyo/Iori. Yes, we are men. Men is what we are. Now with 52% more making out.
1. Chapter 1

Wanting. It was wanting that he knew would eventually kill him, not the man himself, no, oh no, it was the wanting. Never mind that the man in question wanted him hunted down, tortured and killed simply for daring to be born into the line that he was, for being what he was, this man thought that was cause enough for death. No, that wasn't what threatened him, what threatened him was the wanting.

He could remember, clearly as it had been only the day before, when it had been more than ten years, to his memory. Told from day one who he was, what he was, and that this man, only a boy then, not more than thirteen, had to die before the man, the boy, got to him first. He knew from the time he was old enough to know that this was what he had to do. So he trained He trained and he practiced and he spied and he mapped out a road he could run away from, young and impetuous and bold he thought what he was doing he was meant to do, the only thing he could do. He had never seen this boy before, he knew nothing about this boy and he was more than convinced that he had to kill him. Later, he would refer to it as brainwashing, but that was years and years away and he just wanted to impress these people who had brought him up to believe this was what he needed and what was best.

So he snuck out. He knew that if he told them what he was doing, he could go with their full blessing, but he wanted to surprise them, make them happy. They were never happy with him. It was all that he asked for, but it was also the only thing he never got. The night was cold, and his old faded black denim jacket wouldn't keep the air away from his skinny arms. Planning got the fifteen year old nowhere, he hadn't thought about the night cold, out in the mountains where each clan, of sorts, secluded themselves, he didn't know at the time this wasn't exactly within the boundaries of the law. He thought this was what happened, how everyone grew up, he had never known anything else. He could deal with the cold, put his hands over his arms, and tried to get there fast as he could, not even thinking, knowing that he could be warmer there. Their home was miles away, but he could make the run, pushing himself, in half an hour. By the time he got there it would be full dark. They wouldn't see him sneaking in, or so he figured. The way it played out in his head it was perfect. He was the conquering hero, he earned the love and respect of those he considered then to be family, and the heathens that wanted them dead, were, themselves, six feet under.

It was around then he realized that very little was going to go right in his life. He made it into the enemy compound, sure, it was dark and quiet and he could see no one around. So he looked for a way in. He would find this boy, and he would kill him. He would be the hero, the one who defeated that which was evil, for he could not possibly be evil himself. No, no, of course not, he didn't know any better so of course he could never be evil. Students training in the compound found him, locked him away in an underground dungeon. Imprisoned like that, he wondered what he had done wrong. In his mind it was a turn of bad fate, not any fault of his. Replayed in his head he had done nothing wrong. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, he knew now that he was stupid for even trying. But mulling over the last half an hour in his mind, sitting in a dungeon cell at idealistic fifteen, he would have his sweet revenge. A way out, pride, love, something good, for once, in his short life. He hummed a song to himself, sang, tapped his faded broken converse on the stone floor, blinked out the single square window looking out to the sky.

A slamming door broke him from his sick conquering fantasies. A bulk large man guiding a child, no more than thirteen, the boy he was told to destroy. To the wide eyed innocent that the child was, he knew what he must look like, faded patched denim jacket, loose jeans, his converse were at least three years old, he must look terrible. A punk, a disgrace, humiliated by the childlike beauty that stood in front of him. A lab monster, display, hideous and shamed. He looked what he was, though he didn't know it at the time, a demon. The child's face was lit with fear. He had been told that this creature in the cages was what he had to kill. The man left, abandoned the child with this creature, told to kill, and alone. He stared at the child, the light shone on him, and only him, and made the child, though only, at most, three years younger than him, still very much a child, made him look angelic with the light against him, shining on his face. This was the child he had come here to take out of this world.

He couldn't do it anymore. He just wanted out, forget this angel child, erase this memory so that he could go after him again, forget that he was tiny and scared and alone, abandoned with his orders and this creature that watched him so intently. He tried to put himself in the child's shoes, and felt only fear.

"I-I'm supposed to kill you." The child stammered.

"I know." He mumbled.

"They said you came here to kill me."

"I did."

"Why?"

"I was told to."

"Did they tell you why?"

"Because you were going to kill me."

"That's what they told me."

"No reason?"

The child shook his head. "No reason. Just that you were going to kill me if I didn't kill you first."

"Exactly what they said to me."

"Why do they want us dead?"

"Like I know." He sighed, looked at the ceiling, out the window, anywhere but at the child. He was, yes, not more than three years younger than he was, but he was a child. Naïve, didn't question what he had been told, and here he was, realizing that this was a human being he had been told to kill. If he looked too hard, he could see the child's thoughts, his fear, that painful realization, something he had always known, that these were real people, and he had to choose if he wanted his family's pride more than he was afraid to kill. The same thoughts were running through the child's head at this precise moment. He wondered if he had looked like this when he had dealt with the same things.

Why he dwelt on that moment, that exact moment, the moonlight and the fear, was beyond him, but he could see if perfectly in his mind, blown far too beautiful and out of proportion the innocence, not knowing what he wanted. He knew what he wanted now.

And it was the one thing he could never have.


	2. Chapter 2

And that thing was, at that precise moment in time, lying on his couch, wounded from a fight he had not started. That he hadn't even been involved in, for once. He had taken the object of his desire away from the fight, bandaged him, and left him there on the couch to recover. He sat on the bed, easily the largest item in a relatively small studio apartment, his fingers splayed over the thick strings of a bass guitar, eyes determinedly cast down. e sat on the bed, HrH Not letting the slim backside in his peripheral vision overtake his mind with a sick fantasy of things that had happened over four years ago. A flushed face, cursing his name even as he cried for more and more and more. Gripped his back, dug short nails into his skin. In reality, the object of his affections was on his side, the back of a too tight black shirt riding up to expose the tiniest sliver of pale skin. He had set him that way not for the view of his ass, but because of his mangled leg, now bandaged and moved to rest on top of the other, he wasn't sure if all the bones were in the place, or in the amount of pieces, they were supposed to be. And he didn't want Kyo falling off the couch.

Kusanagi Kyo, the man what wanted him killed in the worst ways possible.

Who he wanted in the worst ways possible.

Who would likely make an attempt on his life as soon as he woke up, whether wounded or not, which he most certainly was. It would mean he would lose, and Iori wouldn't even have to fight back. There was a solid chance he wouldn't even make it across the room to the bed where Iori sat. Not with that leg of his. Mindlessly, not really thinking about it, he plucked out a melody on his bass, an old English band's song, post punk, where the bass carried the melody. He liked those old songs. He was missing band practice for a kid who hated him, wanted him dead, wouldn't even think that, perhaps, Iori had saved his life. Wouldn't matter what he'd done to help, saved him, wanted him to live though Kyo wanted him dead. He couldn't hold it against Kyo, after all, they had both been told the same thing, that the other was going to kill them, they had to get to it first, they were evil, they were power hungry, they didn't understand the power, they were a demon. It didn't matter who had been given which story, it boiled down to the same thing.

Kill one another.

Of course, Iori had given up on the killing when he gave up on the people that raised him. Being inordinately attracted to the person he had been told to kill was almost always a bad idea, and that was the boat Iori had been thrown into. Against his will. Quite against his will, life would be a whole lot easier if he could just be attracted to a nice, calm, girl, he already stood out enough, what with being a six foot tall readhead in the middle of Japan.

When he had placed Kyo so carefully on the couch, he hadn't been thinking about the long run, specifically, about Dickface the cat's fondness for leaping from the kitchen island counter above to his favorite place on the couch. Right where Kyo's mangled leg was. He didn't consider this until an angry yell broke his concentration on his bass, and launched himself towards the couch, catching Kyo before the wounded man hit the ground and incurring the cat's wrath clawed on his shoulders.

"Ow, ow, fuck, Dickface, off. Now. Ow." He leaned Kyo against the couch and peeled the cat off his broad shoulder, putting him in his favored place on the couch, and saw the blood pooling under his grey t-shirt. At least it didn't hurt too badly.

What hurt more was the glare he was receiving from the man he had saved.

"Yagami." Kyo growled Iori's family name like it was some sort of curse.

"G'morning." Retreated back into his easygoing, insulting, cruel personality he used around other human beings.

"The fuck're you doing here?"

"Well, it _is_ my apartment."

"Y-your… _What_??" Kyo sputtered, his brown eyes going wide. "What am _I _doing in _your_ apartment?!"

"Well, I carried you here." It was really more complicated than that, but Kyo's angry face was endearing. Iori couldn't much hide his smirk.

"Fuck did you do that for?"

"You were hurt, unconscious in the middle of the street, and I didn't really want to see you get run over by a truck or something."

"So call a goddamned ambulance, don't take me home with you. S'Not like I'm some kinda' animal or something."

"Could've done that, but the police report wouldn't have been pretty. Tranny Ash started a fight, cops don't like that much, and the lovely ladyman was gone, so blame would've been on you n' me."

"You?"

"Well, someone had to chase Ash off before it killed you."

"Since when did you care so much about my well being?"

"I'd say about since we fucked. I mean, that does kinda' do something with how one feels about someone."

Kyo glared, and tried to push himself up. He got to a standing point, took one step, and as soon as he got onto his broken (it was definitely broken) leg, he fell again. And again, Iori caught him, and carried him in both arms, princess style, dropped him unceremoniously on the couch, kicking Dickface the cat to make him move first. Dickface wasn't too happy about it, and glared petulantly at Iori before leaping onto the bed and preening angrily. If that was even possible.

"You're not walking anywhere, Kyo. Not for now, at least." Harsh reality, whether Kusanagi Kyo liked it or not.

He didn't like it. He sulked on the couch, crossed his arms, refused to look at Iori, didn't even acknowledge the fact that Iori had saved his life.

"Take me home."

"And risk them seeing me? Or, risk _them_ seeing _me_ with you? They still don't know we fucked, do they?"

"Why would I tell them something like that? They'd execute me."

"Yes, they would."

"And why do you care, once again."

"Like I said, I generally care about people I've had sex with."

Kyo shifted uncomfortably. Obviously, he didn't want to be reminded of their one night stand. The flash of expressions and shift of his hips, Iori didn't much know if it was a pleasant recollection or not.


	3. Chapter 3

"So take me home."

"Believe it or not, Kyo, I don't have much of a death wish."

"You haven't got a right to call me Kyo."

"I disagree." Iori was sitting on the floor in front of his small bed, scratching behind Dickface's ears to placate the stubborn animal. The cat hummed happily, unaware of the thick, throbbing silence between the two men.

"Its not your decision to make." Kyo grumbled. He was in a world of pain, his leg felt like it was in a thousand different pieces, his head pulsated too big for his skull, Kyo hated losing a fight, he hated the aftermath, and he hated that he was stuck in the home of his mortal enemy. But, unfortunately, Yagami was right. He wasn't going anywhere beaten like that. Yagai wasn't helping, either, sitting there with that fuck ugly cat and self satisfied smile. Kyo wasn't quite aware how Yagami managed in day to day life, outside of their familial grudge and fighting tournaments. He was too cold, stood out too much, and Kyo doubted there was any way Yagami could hold down a consistent job. He had heard something about a band, but he had never gone to look deeper into it, judging from the guitar, it didn't have enough strings, the band thing might be right.

"Yagami, your guitar doesn't have enough strings."

"Huh?" Iori reached over for the guitar, laid it across his lap and played a few notes.

"See? There's four. A guitar's supposed to have six, right?"

"This is… A bass, moron."

"Oh. Whatever." Kyo sulked, trying not to let on that he was listening to Iori play the instrument. He did it well, incredibly well, the music was deep and smooth, a quick melody Kyo was unfamiliar with. He wasn't going to lie, not to himself at least, Iori meant something to him. Whether it was the familiarity, the thing in his life to stay constant, or it was that old one night stand, four years ago, on impulse so much as it was something he had thought about for years. Something he still thought about, still dreamt about, whether he wanted to or not Kyo fixated on that.

He had been out with a friend for a few drinks, that turned into seven or so, and he had just noticed that his friend had left. With his ride. In a part of town he didn't know at all. Drunk. Within an hour of this realization, he began to figure they weren't coming back for him. So he bought another drink and weighted his options- taxi, trying to walk, hitching a ride, but he had no idea where he was, or the likelihood of any of these taking place.

A hand hit the bar on his side, he looked at it, then the other trapped him there where he sat. Hot breath hit his ear.

"Need a ride, baby?"

The voice was hot, sweet, deep and depravedly smooth. Kyo's first reaction was to arch against the unseen voice, but a moment's drunken thought he wanted to see his temptation.

Flame red hair covered one eye, the other was a deep golden red, broad shoulders and a perfect, slender waist. He was wearing a battered old black shirt, faded red plaid pants that hugged ideal legs, and a black denim jacket, patched and altered, old boots. Kyo looked him over, marveled that his mortal enemy could look so infinitely beautiful. He wanted to take that curve of his waist in both hands and draw the man close, kiss him for all he was worth, as much, if not more, than he wanted to rip the last breath and blood from his lungs. Watch him die, make love to him, the passion of the two was so close that in his inebriated state, it was the same thing.

"Not from you."

"Then who?" Obviously, Yagami Iori was much more sober than he was.

Yagami could be so annoying, crude, arrogant, self-assured. But he was right. "I-I don't know. Not you."

"You said that." Smooth, sick smile light his face.

_Is he flirting with me? _"Fuck you."

Yagami leaned close, his breath was once again against Kyo's ear, enticing and sweet, Kyo allowed his eyes to flutter closed and bask in the pleasure.

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. What are you doing here anyways? Fucking stalk me or something?"

"Well, that too. But really, we played a show here. Didn't notice?"

"Um. No."

"Aw, and it was a good show, too." Yagami smirked, still against his ear, so close that in his drunkenness it was stifling as much as it turned him on. His vision was taken up by Yagami's body, calm and controlled and, perhaps, most importantly, sober. Kyo's eyes were drawn to his hips, the exaggerated curve of his waist, lower, dazed and reveling in the feel of his enemy's breath against his ear.


	4. Chapter 4

Against all his better judgment, what better judgment the alcohol had left him with, Kyo arched his back

Against all his better judgment, what better judgment the alcohol had left him with, Kyo arched his back. Obviously, Yagami felt him, because he put his hand on Kyo's waist, pulled him to a standing position.

"Please, Kyo, allow me to take you home."

"I can't go home drunk."

"Then come to my place." Yagami held him by his waist, close enough he could feel the moist heat of Yagami's body, he wanted the rough fabric of his jeans over his crotch to be that slight inch closer to him.

Kyo nodded.

Yagami drove too fast, his music was too raucous and too loud, but he didn't turn it down and he didn't slow the old black car, amplifiers and guitar cases in the back seat banged against the passenger side and rocked Kyo back and forth, making three am city lights blend into each other, a neon blur of color and shapes leading Kyo exactly where he didn't want to go. But what choice did he have? Finally, the drive was over, not near soon enough, and Yagami pulled into a grungy, broken down apartment building The thing was whitewashed, some windows were boarded up, padlocks and mold stains. Kyo wondered how anyone could live there. But Yagami was out of the car, two small amplifiers in his arms, both guitar cases slung over his shoulders like some sort of old West gunslinger's holsters. Kyo stood, staggering, and followed him up a flight of stairs, down a yellow hallway, and into his apartment.

Yagami hardly had time to set down the musical equipment before Kyo's lust took over. He pushed the taller redhead against the wall, pressed their lips together roughly. Yagami pushed him onto the bed, upsetting an orange cat that vaguely resembled a pile of furred vomit, who promptly ran out the open door, before Yagami shut it after him, turned back to Kyo.

"I can't tell you how long I've dreamt of that." Yagami perched over Kyo, kissed him again, forcing his mouth open and ravaging his lips, teeth and tongue, leaving nothing untouched. Kyo moaned wanton, desperate, his face red with lust and alcohol. Shamelessly, he pawed at Yagami's chest, tearing the thin fabric of his black shirt, shaking.

It wasn't making love, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was fucking, pure and simple. Kyo's clothing was torn from him, thrown aside, carelessly. Yagami only removed what was necessary. Kyo had to take the initiative, push his shirt up his stomach, he always tasted that skin in his fantasies, knew, from his dreams, how sensitive and pliant his nipples were, and he was far from disappointed. It almost gave him an edge over the larger man, to lavish them with attention, rough, very well near violent bites and scratches trailed down his chest. The sex itself was just as violent and delicious, only the way fucking your worst enemy can be. Exactly what he expected of Yagami Iori.

Thing was, Kyo barely remembered the sex, only that it was amazing.

Yagami was bent over a box on a table, wearing black jeans that hugged that perfect ass like they had been made for him. A roll of medical bandages trailed across the floor towards the couch Kyo was laying on, his broad shoulders were hunched into himself, he called, not looking at Kyo, backwards.

"Ever splinted a bone?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Your leg needs help."

"Fine."

Yagami had a plank of smoothed wood in one hand, probably used for his own pains at one point in time, and he pulled the bandages with him, sat behind Kyo. He leveled the flat piece against Kyo's leg, eliciting a hiss of pain from the wounded man.

"Hold my arm." There was a surprising amount of care in his voice, he put both arms around Kyo, and let the man latch onto him.

Kyo gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut, and his nails dug harsh into Yagami's arm as he pulled the bandages tight, to fix the bones back where they belonged. The calm, consistent breathing behind him, against his back, was the only thing keeping him grounded. He was so calm, tugging the bandages around his leg, fixed to the splint, even though blood was pooling under Kyo's fingernails. Yagami's breath was hot against the side of his neck, bringing to mind once again the drunken attraction he had for his enemy. Yagami fastened the bandage around Kyo's leg, gave him a lingering kiss on his cheek, and stood.

"Fuck was that for?"

"I wanted to."

"Well, don't." Kyo deliberately looked away, stubborn, making a concerted attempt to ignore the attraction.

"Fine, I'll find other places to kiss you then." Yagami smirked deliberately. He was getting off on this, in some sick way, and Kyo could tell.


	5. Chapter 5

"Don't touch me!" Kyo snapped, flinching away from a long time enemy. He was scared of the sense of arousal that permeated his senses when he got too close to this man.

By evening, it hadn't gotten any better. No conversation had passed between the two, except for the rare moment when he demanded something from who he now considered to be his captor, but, strangely, every request, whether it was for a pillow to prop his leg on, or a soda, was immediately granted. He had brought Kyo some strong, likely prescription from the hospital, painkillers, and they had granted an appreciated wealth of relief.

Feeling better, Kyo stared around the tiny one room apartment that belonged to his enemy. The bed, while not large, dominated the main area, and against the back wall was a small television hooked up to a video game console. The whole area was a bit messy, strewn with games and dvd cases. Kyo himself sat under a kitchen island counter, and the kitchen area itself was cramped. The cat, Kyo had gathered Yagami called it Dickface, was sitting on a back counter eating out of a can of cat food. How Yagami managed to care for anything other than himself, Kyo was beginning to realize, much to his growing irritation. Yagami was sitting on the bed, examining papers in a folder, a Japanese to English dictionary sitting next to one leg. Every so once in a while, he would push his one long bang back, sigh, and grab the dictionary. He hadn't said a word to Kyo in about an hour. The last thing was to insist that Kyo take another dose of painkillers, before the pains in his head and leg got bad again.

"Yagami?" Kyo was bored. Annoying his enemy would subdue that.

"Hmm?" He didn't look up from his papers.

"What're you doing?"

"Translating tour contracts."

"Lame. I want candy."

Still not looking up, "what kind?"

Kyo hadn't thought that far ahead. He just wanted to get in Yagami's way, if he had to be here, he might as well make it hard on the both of them. "Um, I don't know."

Yagami didn't say anything, just continued with his work.

"Peanut butter cups."

"Kay." Yagami shrugged, and set down the folder, and grabbed the keys to the apartment, out the front door without even a sign of irritation. Kyo wondered how far he could push this.

Iori wandered into the market, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He knew full well what a figure he cut, stood out, what with his flame red hair, tall, built figure amongst the working class office drones picking up necessities for them and their families. Iori grabbed a bag of miniature peanut butter cups, and more soda, just in case, as it looked like he would have a house guest for some time. He knew Kyo's reasoning. He couldn't go home with a loss, he wouldn't let his girlfriend see him beaten, and Iori happened to be there, He wasn't sure they hated each other that much anymore. Perhaps, at one time or another, they had, but it was likely the sex that had changed that. Iori threw some money at the disgruntled college student cashier, and made his way back to the ancient apartment complex. It had been the only place that had been willing to rent to a sixteen year old, and by this point Iori had grown fond of it. Even the badly whitewashed hallways and the young woman underneath him with the small children that she never really watched after. He ran up the stairs, not out of any particular rush, out of habit. The lock was broken, he usually used his pocketknife nowadays, the key didn't even fit anymore, but it worked either way. No one wanted to break into a shithole like this, and Iori was fairly dangerous, whether he really wanted to be or not.

Kyo was in the exact same position, on the couch, shooing the cat away. Unfortunately, Iori noticed, Dickface thought the hand brushing him away was an invitation to play. Iori picked the cat up before it bit his wounded guest, and dropped the candies and the sodas on the counter. Kyo watched him. Iori sctratched the cat's ears, much to the ugly little creature's delight, and opened the bag of candies, tossing it casually into Kyo's lap. Kyo looked up at him in disbelief.

"Um, thanks?"

"No problem. Soda?"

"Sure…" Kyo was untrusting, eying Iori as he opened a can of soda and handed it to the man. Kyo smelled it, tasted it, and looked back at Iori, who had stopped caring some time ago and only noticed out of the corner of his eye.

"You just wasted a perfectly good chance to kill me." Kyo said.

"Isn't that what I've been doing all day?"

"But isn't it, like, your life goal or something to kill me?"

"No."

"It was."

"Yeah, then we fucked."

"It was a fucking mistake, get over it."

"Wish I could."

But Kyo didn't hear the last words spoken. He turned on the small television, sat there with his coveted candies and soda, and sulked. Iori gave a slight smile, just having him there, in the silence, he could pretend.

There was some sort of calming routine in coming back to the apartment to find Kyo still on his couch. Iori set the bass in its black canvas gig bag next to the door and leaned over the kitchen island counter to watch Kyo, playing video games lazily. He had stopped paying much mind to Iori either, and over the last month and a half it hardly seemed like they were enemies any longer. Kyo could stand, take a few steps, and at this success, Iori had offered, again, to take him home, Kyo turned him down. Kept Iori up at night to wonder about that, what the decision to stay meant in their mess of a relationship, but in the end, he had to count his blessings.

"I drank the last soda." Kyo didn't even look up.

"Oh."

"You're not pissed?" Apparently Iori had given the wrong response in not caring.

"Not particularly."

"Fuck you."

Iori shrugged, and filled Dickface's bowl with cat food.

"What've I got to do to get a reaction from you? Kill that fucking cat or something?"

"That might work, but don't get any ideas. I think animal abuse is still illegal in this country."

"I don't fucking care." Kyo sat up, watched Iori from afar.

"You're the one who didn't want to go home again."

"Can't. Leg's broke."

"Not so badly anymore. You walked yourself to the bathroom this morning."

"I did, huh?"

"What are you, bipolar or something? First you wanna' kill me, now you don't wanna' leave, what gives?" Iori stared at his houseguest, dumbfounded.

"Maybe I want to kill you and take over your life."

"Good luck. You can't play bass."

"So?"

"So you can't have my life unless you can take on what I do. Bet you can't work, either."

"Maybe I can. Maybe I've been studying your technique."

"You're not trying to take over my life, Kyo."

"No, but I might have an evil scheme."

"I don't think you do."

"So trusting, Yagami, you're gonna' get yourself killed."

"By you? I don't think so. I could still take you right now, easy."

"Not when I'm better."

"I still could."

"Then why haven't you killed me?"

"I don't want to."

"Fuckin' moron."

"You want me to kill you, Kyo?"

"Fuck nah! I gotta' kill you first."

"So then, why am I a moron for letting you live?"

"You're supposed to kill me, ain't'cha?"

"No."

"Yes you are, dumbfuck!"

"I'm not. I left the family, I told you."

"You still use the name."

"No, you use the name when you talk to me."


	6. Chapter 6

Kyo pushed himself into a standing position, facing Yagami. "Doesn't change a thing. You were born Yagami, you still have that damned demon, the fire, you're still my enemy." Orange flames gathered in his hand, he watched Yagami cross the room to face him. He took the hand that was calling the flames and pushed it down rough. He knew the fire burned, the only person it wouldn't hurt was Kyo himself, but the hand went down regardless. Yagami didn't react to the burnt hand, instead, his face came very close to Kyo's, those flame red eyes met his, he was more bemused than angry.

"I maintain that I could take you in a fight without trying right now, Kyo."

Kyo slapped Yagami's hand away from him, aggressive. "Don't fucking touch me." The flames were back, around his hands, in his eyes. He threw them at Yagami, filled the room with the orange flame that was his birthright. Yagami guarded himself, wouldn't attack, but wouldn't let himself get hurt. Kyo attacked him all that his leg would let him, backed Yagami into a corner.

"Why don't you fight back Yagami?"

He kept attacking, he had to, since he had been small it was ingrained into him that this man had to die. It didn't matter that he was beautiful, it didn't matter that he wouldn't fight back, that he denied everything was, that he took care of Kyo with a gentle grace that his appearance, the demeanor he put on for the tournaments denied. It didn't matter that he still thought about that one night stand. He had to kill this man. Maybe then, this would be over, maybe then he wouldn't feel it when he looked at him.

"Fight me!"

The electricity in the room burned, pulsated like something alive. Yagami threw Kyo away from him, careful to cause the man no harm. No harm save for the shudder that went through him at the touch. Kyo staggered back, charged at him again, Yagami caught him. One arm wrapped around Kyo's waist, Yagami's breath was harsh from the fighting, from defending himself against his attacker. He held Kyo there, too strong for the smaller man to resist. Not to say at all that he didn't try, he pushed back against Yagami's chest, he tried to push himself away, but to no avail. Yagami had, he hated to admit, been right. Kyo couldn't fight him like this. They had always been equals, in the tournaments they would fight for hours until one gave in. Wounded, Kyo would lose. He assumed Yagami didn't want to fight someone who wouldn't give him a challenge.

Yagami released him, sensing resignation. Kyo sulked to the couch, making no attempt to clean the mess he made in his misguided attempt to start a fight. Yagami trailed behind him, picking his precious bass guitar off the floor, and holding it out. Kyo looked up.

"Heavens. I broke a string." Not that he cared in the least.

"Yeah. You did." Yagami was pissed. Kyo had finally found something that annoyed the passive man.

"Care more about that fucker than you do your life, huh?"

"Sometimes." Yagami cradled the instrument in his lap, gingerly removing the broken string. He slid it into a case, and swung the case over his shoulder, bruised, black-eyed, beaten with dignity. "I'll be back in an hour. I gotta' get strings."

And he left.

Kyo watched the door for a long time after he left. He didn't know why, but he regretted breaking the thing that seemed to matter to Yagami the most. He scratched Dickface the cat's head, let the animal jump up onto the couch to keep him company. He had hurt Yagami, he knew, had found something that actually bothered him. That fucking guitar. He hadn't even been looking for it, he hadn't worried about that guitar. He had thought he might actually do it, kill him, or at least make him fight. It felt strange to have this kind of companionship with someone he was supposed to kill. Felt even stranger to think about having sex with him. And it was all he could think about. Hot breath in his ear, the arm around his waist, and the angry dejection of that door shutting on him. He knew Yagami would be back, but he knew he would still be angry.

Iori knew he couldn't blame Kyo. It was the family, the Kusanagi clan, that told him Iori had to die. He couldn't bring himself to think that it was Kyo's deepest desire to see him suffer. But he might be judging him too lightly. It might have become his need as well as the family's. It simply didn't work that way, someone didn't like you just because you wanted to have sex with them. He sat in the back room of the music supply store he worked at five days a week and balanced his bass between his knees to pull the new strings taut. The beast had needed to be restrung for some time anyway, he just found excuses not to do it. New strings were expensive, even with the employee discount. Supervisor Watanabe had given him the raised angry eyebrow when he came in disheveled as he was from the fight and gone straight to the backroom, but he could do Watanabe's job better than he did, so the man didn't argue much. Iori had done stranger things in his tenure at the shop anyway. If he didn't do such a damned good job refurbishing instruments and selling shit, he would have been gone a long time ago. He grabbed a tuning instrument and worked away at the new strings, calming from the fight, from the floodgate of emotions that his houseguest evoked. He would have to return, and he would have to face Kyo, but not then. He couldn't make his way back yet.

He ended up with the band, sitting on a couch with his bass splayed across his lap, letting someone's girlfriend play with his hair, making it into spikes. They didn't care who Iori was, what he was capable of, just that he was a good bassist, and he fit their music. They listened to him whine and bitch and moan about Kyo and his residence in Iori's apartment. They didn't care that he liked men, wasn't their problem. They were the closest things Iori had to friends in this world.

"You need to go back talk to him, right?" The girlfriend said from her seat behind him.

The rest nodded in agreement. "If you wanna' fuck him, you gotta' make him like you some first."

"Didn't have to last time."

"Then get 'im drunk again."

"He'll catch on."

"Stop fucking yourself over, Iori."

"Give the kid a chance."

"Whadd'you want me to do, burst in there and confess my undying love?"

The rest laughed. "Might work."

"You know what? Get the fuck outta' here. Go talk to your little man crush, and don't come back until practice or you get laid, whichever comes first."

"You kicking me out?"

"What does it sound like, Yagami?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Fine." He threw his bass in its beaten black case and left, not taking the car, he didn't have a right to it, they all shared the ancient vehicle and it wasn't his that weekend. He walked, it was starting to rain but Iori didn't care much. He liked rain, it washed away everything, the fight, the broken strings he so painstakingly replaced, Kyo laying on the couch in his apartment, triumphant that he had found something to fight Iori with. Rain took everything away. It stuck red hair to his face, soaked his hooded sweatshirt to his arms, flooding over the sidewalk and running down the stairs that led to his studio apartment. The roof leaked, his landlady's kids were racing paper boats with his neighbor's small, loud children in the rivulets of water, dirty bare feet the same color as the walls. Iori didn't actually have a problem with the kids, with kids in general, they tended to think he was some sort of monster and leave him well alone. He gave them a short smile, which one of the kids returned, waving. So Iori waved back, and started up the stairs to his room. At least someone was wiling to be friendly.

He fumbled with the broken lock of his apartment. Apparently Kyo had deemed it pertinent to lock it from the inside, which was the only way it actually worked, ever. He dug around his gig bag for the key, and shoved it in the lock, twisting and pushing until the door gave way with a loud crash, which he assumed was part of the lock mechanism. He wouldn't call the landlady about it. The door swung open, and Dickface was immediately around his ankles, begging for attention. He knelt and lifted the cat into his arms, scratching the top of his head and behind his ears. Kyo hadn't moved, and if he had, he had gone back to the same spot on the couch he had been occupying since he arrived. He didn't look up at Iori.

"Long time to go get strings."

"Went to band practice."

"Thought that was on Tuesdays."

"Why do you care?"

"Don't. Just wondering if you were coming back. Did break that fuckin' instrument after all." He sounded proud of himself.

Iori sighed and placed his instrument, still in the case, beside the bed. He sat down, facing Kyo, letting Dickface run across the bed.

"Why haven't you gone home? You can obviously walk again."

"What, don't like my company?" He dripped with sarcasm.

"Actually, I do."

"Huh?"

"I like having you here, Kyo."

"Fuckin'… Callin'… Its Kusanagi."

"Its Kyo."

He watched Yagami cross the room, approaching him on the couch. He sat across from Kyo, reached out. Kyo flinched away. There was something in his brown red eyes, something Kyo had never seen before. He looked down, but both arms wrapped around Kyo, pulling him close. Kyo was shocked. Too shocked to move, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Yagami was warm, and his hands splayed over Kyo's back and he buried his face in Kyo's shoulder. Kyo could feel his heart beating against him, together, changing pace to beat as one. All of this happened in a single moment, time slowed down and it felt like far too long before he found it within him to shove Yagami away. Yagami couldn't meet Kyo's eyes, he looked everywhere else, the cat, the couch, his bed, the guitar propped up in the corner.

Wimp. If he was keeping Kyo here because he wanted him, if he wanted him here from some misguided affection, some sense of caring for him he could at least do something about it. Kyo had spent this whole time daydreaming about their one night stand, the way he walked, slim black jeans that perfectly framed his fighter's physique. He wondered sometimes if he had a single pair of jeans that didn't have something hanging off them, some hole or zipper bringing attention to his long legs and slender hips. He was wearing a faded black shirt with something about Sex Pistols on it. Kyo had no idea what that was, but it seemed vaguely offensive. His bare arms were taut and lined with muscle, long fingers finely boned, calloused, tough. Kyo was aware of the fact that he was beautiful. There were dark auburn roots sticking out from under his bright red hair, his one long bang hiding one brown red eye. Kyo found those eyes, moved the fringe to one side. Yagami's eyes flicked over Kyo's face, then focused on the buttons on his shirt. His face was soft, conflicted. Kyo's hand hovered close to Yagami's face still, trying to get his attention, make him look up. He was a warrior, but he was scared.

"Whassa' matter Yagami? Scared to get what you want?"

"How do you know what I want?"

"I've got an idea."

"Do you now?"

Yagami's hands twisted in his lap, he looked down. Kyo knew Yagami wanted him, cared about him, there was something strong in the way they obsessed over each other. Kyo had been trained to kill this man, Kyo had been told that he was the devil himself, or close enough to count. But he couldn't hate him. He could drive himself to kill this man, he could force himself to hate, to be cruel and callous and ignore the growing feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him perhaps this man was not the demon he thought he had known. This was a different Yagami than the one he saw in the yearly tournaments, the cold sadist who ruthlessly killed his teammates almost regularly and laughed as the others fell before purple flame. This wasn't the heir to the Orochi, he couldn't imagine this man tearing into the flesh of helpless fighters who were unaware of his reputation for cruelty. Kyo couldn't think that they were the same man. He had never seen this Yagami turn a cruel hand to him, or to anyone. It wasn't the same person. Same body, but someone he thought could care for. Kyo reached forward and touched his hand to Yagami's.

"I think I know exactly what you want."

"But are you willing to give it?"


	8. Chapter 8

Kyo's head fell. He couldn't offer him this. He wanted to, he wanted to offer this man everything, he couldn't. The stigma was too much. He was too trained to kill this man, too trained to hate, too trained to want him down, take the demon out of this world. But he saw nothing of the demon now. Yagami was shy, he couldn't look at Kyo, his hands twitched and fidgeted, fingers curling over each other and tore at his nails, callouses, scratched his wrists. His scuffed canvas sneakers rubbed the backs of his ankles, zippered black jeans were just that little bit too short, Iori had to be over six feet tall. Too tall, with his bright red hair, stood out like nothing else on these streets. How he pulled a normal life, a decent job, was beyond Kyo's imaginings. He supposed he didn't. Music stores, the band, the tournaments, not a much normal life.

"I didn't think so." Yagami stood, turned away from Kyo. "I'd like you to be out of here by the end of the week, you're healed. Don't care what you tell your family, not my problem."

"Because I don't wanna' fuck you?"

"Sure." Yagami wasn't paying attention to him anymore, he had sat down on the bed with his bass. The notes were deep and smooth, fast, sweet and dark and sad. Kyo closed his eyes and listened for the melody, hidden under the flurry of notes. He couldn't watch Yagami. He knew what he looked like, he had watched the older man practice before. His head was down, his hair covered his face entirely, his hands moved too fast to be properly seen, his shirt rode up, or his pants were too low, which made sense for his height, exposing pale flesh. His face was a mess of concentration. Kyo had seen this all before. The cat was sleeping next to him. That damned mangy orange cat was loyal to a fault. It was uglier than sin, its face was squished into itself, there were tears in its ears, probably from fighting. Kyo had a few scars of his own, he was sure Yagami did. He remembered one, from that night, riding along his hip, deep and white, and he liked when it was touched. Kyo remembered lying awake while his one night stand slept, and running his fingers back and forth across it. He could barely see the top above his zippered black jeans.

Kyo heaved himself off the couch, it was still a difficulty and he still limped, but he forced himself to stand and cross the room to the bed. He sat beside Yagami.

Yagami looked at him, raised one eyebrow. "I don't get the car 'till the weekend, I can't give you a ride home."

"I'm not asking for one, dumbfuck."

"I guess that's a step up from Yagami. Then what do you want?"

"You, I think."

Yagami's eyes lit. His hands fell from his bass guitar, he watched Kyo for some sign this was a joke, this wasn't real. Kyo had to make the first move. He leaned forward and kissed Yagami's cheek. The tall man shuddered, looked at Kyo, his eyes wide. Kyo gave him the briefest of smiles, the most he could afford with the sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew the details of the curse Yagami carried, knew things about it likely no one had told Yagami. He knew how long this could last, he knew it probably wouldn't. But he had gone too far now, he had to try.

Yagami's hands found either side of Kyo's face. He cradled the younger man, met his eyes. Kyo didn't figure many people saw both of Yagami's eyes, the way his hair completely covered one, there was a tiny scar just underneath the covered one, barely noticeable, but he couldn't meet Yagami's eyes and it was something to focus on.

Yagami kissed him. Even four years ago, when they had known each other intimately, they had never kissed like they did now. It was slow, tentative, neither knew how the other was going to react. Yagami gently took Kyo's lower lip between his teeth, pulled, letting Kyo's mouth open to him. A delicate tongue fluttered into his mouth, past his front teeth, tasting him. Kyo's tongue moved to compliment his enemy's, they tousled over each other, explorative, not fighting for dominance, not violent. Yagami's hands strayed from Kyo's face into his hair, playing with the soft brown strands between his fingers, cupping the back of his head to keep him there. Kyo braced himself with one hand on the bed to lean into the kiss, the other touched Yagami's shoulder, nervous.

Pulling back from the kiss to breathe, Iori grabbed Kyo around the waist and pulled him close. He couldn't have daydreamed a better way for this to turn out, Kyo making the first move so he didn't have to fear for rejection. He didn't want Kyo to leave, he wanted to keep him here, forever, kissing him like this. He kissed him again, sucking gently at his lower lip, making Kyo shiver, and for once he didn't think it was in a bad way. Kyo had always struck him as too beautiful to be as cold and uncaring as he was. He knew Kyo had a girlfriend, some perky little highschool gold digger who couldn't give a real shit about Kyo if she tried. He knew, she dated older men so they would give her everything she wanted. He had heard the rumors around the tournament circuit, he knew he couldn't give Kyo the social status, he couldn't give him the warm willing body, but he could give him better than some teenaged brat. He also knew that Kyo was kissing him, that Kyo wanted him.

And he was just self loathing enough to not mind being an affair. He lowered Kyo back to lay on the bed, spread out beneath him, and flushed from all the kissing. He didn't think that Kyo had ever been kissed like this. He was splayed out, his hands grasping for Iori, brown hair spread out on the pillow. His skin was flushed red away from its normal glow, white shirt was pushed up his stomach, revealing this perfect toned abdomen. His jeans had ridden low, he gasped for breath, now gripping Iori's arms for everything he had. Iori stroked his hair, kissed him gently again, not trying to open his mouth, just a little press of lips to lips. Kyo looked like he had been betrayed, in the best way possible. His deep brown eyes narrowed against Iori's, They were darkened with lust, unabashed, as much as he wanted he couldn't hide what was there already. He let his lips run over Kyo's skin, cheeks, eyelids, nipped gently at his earlobe. Kyo was victim underneath him, more so than any fight they had ever had. He was helpless aroused. Iori ran his hand up under Kyo's shirt, pushed it up around his shoulders, slid it off strong arms. Kyo played with his hair, tugging at the short red strands in the back. He couldn't look at Iori, his dark eyes were fluttered shut, head turned away, but he welcomed every kiss, every heated breath he struggled to take. Iori nipped at his throat, his collarbone, sensitive, eliciting a short gasp and an arch of his back. One leg twined over Iori's hip, pulled him close, gasping and desperate.

"Never thought you were so eager, Kyo."

"Don't," he panted, "call me that."

Instead of a response, Iori kissed him. It didn't matter what he could call him, it mattered that he had him, that they were here, his warm body and willing lips, on the precipice of something that terrified and excited Iori.


	9. Chapter 9

Instead of a response, Iori kissed him. It didn't matter what he could call him, it mattered that he had him, that they were here, his warm body and willing lips, on the precipice of something that terrified and excited Iori. They kissed long and hard, deep enough to bruise, the way Iori liked it. He had never expected being with Kyo to be gentle or caring. He expected Kyo to bruise, to make him bleed, and the grip on his hair tightened as Iori moved back down to his throat, pulled, something that always got him off. He gasped, biting the skin just below Kyo's pulse eliciting the same reaction from his partner, his enemy, puling his hair again. One leg was still around Iori, and he could feel some thing insistent and growing between Kyo's thighs, each step in this more terrifying than the last now they wanted to be with each other without the drunken slurs. His hands pushed up Kyo's bare chest, tracing the lines and contours of skin, smooth muscle, a thin trickle of hair beneath his navel, leading into the waistband of dark jeans. His fingers traced these, watching the muscle of Kyo's stomach tighten, his hips arch, reacting to this touch. Iori cupped his hips, against denim, kissed just above his navel. Large hands held hips against Kyo's sporadic thrusting, kissed lower, nestled against the fine hairs beneath his navel, kissed just above the waistline.

"Stop!" Kyo gasped out, arching, pulling tight against Iori's hair wrenching his head up.

"Why?"

"I… I have someone… I… Can't do this."

"You wanted it."

"I do."

Iori kissed him, long, slow, lingering. He slowed from their earlier headrush, Kyo lying on his back, his hand in Iori's hair, brushing his fingers against the cool strands, his other hand against the small of Iori's back. His good leg was entwined with his enemy's, the other was splayed out against the bed, Iori ran one hand down the tight muscled thigh, still slow, still trying to calm him, convince him this was good, and there wasn't much convincing that needed be done. Kyo's kisses were eager, tasting everything he could, intrusive. But Iori made their kisses slow, practiced, gentle. He no longer craved for Kyo's desperate breathing, his arousal, he no longer needed to make Kyo want him. He was happy to lie encased in his bed, in Kyo's kisses. His hands moved up and down Iori's arms, pushing under the black shirt, nails digging into trained muscles. Iori pulled the shirt off, throwing it somewhere, presumably landing on the cat, the creature whined somewhere in the room. Kyo smirked, running both hands down Iori's firm, toned chest, as pale as the rest of him.

Iori moved so close to his face he could feel the older man breathing, caressed the other side of his face, "Are you sure you want this?"

"No," Kyo gasped out, "but there's no going back, is there?"

"I can stop right now."

"I can't."

"Then it's your fault."

"Still," Kyo gasped as Iori kissed behind his ear, ran his tongue gently against the skin, "yours."

Iori didn't mind. He ran his hands up and down Kyo's sides, tickling, teasing, making him shudder and arch against the other man, sighing deep. He kissed down from his place behind Kyo's ear, down his throat, collarbone, ribcage. He had every intention of making love to this man, making Kyo want him badly. The tension, the intensity was returning, and Kyo's body was reacting appropriately. They took each other just as fierce as the first time, and yet it was different, so different. There wasn't the drunken haze, instead their fights and vendettas seemed to fade away as they connected, physically and mentally, rough, but passionate, and very, very real. Exactly what Iori had wanted when he held Kyo by the hips and took him proper. Kyo's submission was everything he had wanted in a lover, everything he had been denied, too busy trying to chase this moment, to take it from this man, and this man alone.

Kyo curled around Iori's long, lean body, holding onto one arm with a gentleness that denied everything he was, everything Iori had previously believed of him. He ran his hands over the curve of muscle, traced it, sighed deep and drowsy.

"Yagami?"

"Mm-hmm?" Iori felt as sex sleepy as Kyo looked.

"You're… You're really beautiful, y'know that."

Iori almost laughed. He had never seen this side of Kyo, he had to wonder if it was common, for him to be partial to pillow talk. Iori ran his fingers through the lover's hair, kissing his forehead, bade him sleep. He needed to think, to go over what happened, and not just the pure eroticism. He had to wonder where this came from, sure, he wanted it, he wanted to be with Kyo as much, more, than he ever wanted anything, but he had to wonder why Kyo had come onto him, and why so suddenly. Kyo had finally found the thing that made him tick, and ignored it, for lust. Was it all lust? Iori had to wonder, was there feeling there, or not. He had to know. Kyo was sleeping soundly, naked and curled into his bed, sweet and calm and everything he wasn't. He couldn't wrap his mind around the idea, around what had happened, he went to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer. He didn't know what else he could do, until Kyo woke, until he saw what Kyo thought of what had just transpired. He sat on the couch and watched the cat knead his paws into the bed beside Kyo, the man so calm, hands splayed out, the blanket barely covered his bare chest, bunched up around his legs. One foot stuck out of the white sheet, lazy and relaxed, the wounded leg made completely straight and leaned on a pillow. Iori had set it there, worried he would only get worse from the abuse laid on it, trying to find that right position where they connected, where they became a part of each other, one being, separate and perfect when they bound themselves to each other. He worried he would worsen the healing break.

If you went to the tournaments, you never saw the inside of a hospital. You worked every wound yourself, you couldn't trust the doctors, the tournaments worked under the law, creatures beyond humanity. He couldn't imagine what the hospital workers would make of the fire that ran with Kyo's blood, the curse that turned Iori himself into a monster, these inhuman abilities that were daily life to Kyo, to Iori, to the others. There were things they had seen no mental health ward would know what to do with, Iori was a murderer many times over, he had torn human beings to pieces with his bare hands, he knew the taste of blood, he knew what vital organs felt like in dirty fingers, mixed their blood with his own. He would never be able to wash these things from his mind, these were not him, these were not his desires, these things were not Iori, he watched them from another place and they burned into his mind. He could never tell anyone of these things who didn't know, and anyone who did no longer trusted him. They didn't know Iori, they knew the Orochi that was his birthright. They knew the personality that he gave them, this cruel man laughing as he tore into them, fighting only on instinct and violence. They knew his single minded pursuit of Kyo, they couldn't fathom it was for this moment. Try telling a psychiatrist these things.


	10. Chapter 10

The cat yawned, stretched out long and laid down beside Kyo's head. Paws reached out and moved his hair, mangled orange fur sticking to the pads of the cat's hands, brushing the smooth skin at the back of Kyo's neck. Kyo shuddered against the touch, his eyes squeezed shut and opened, slightly, hazy, confusion set in. He sat up, incurring an irritated swat from the cat, who had lost his kneading post at the back of Kyo's neck.

"Good evening, Kyo."

"S'Fuck?"

"Yes, Kyo, we fucked. What about it?"

"Why?"

"You wanted it, didn't you?"

"I have a girlfriend."

"You said that. Somewhere in between 'please' and 'oh yes, take me, take me.'"

"The fuck is your problem?" Kyo's eyes narrowed, he leaned over the side of the bed, sheet up around his waist, searching for his clothing.

"I could ask the same of you. You wanted this."

"You didn't think I'd get mad about it?"

"I kind of thought you'd remember you wanted it."

"You took advantage of me."

"Or you me."

"How did I manage that?" Kyo was defensive.

"You pushed me for this. I told you we could stop, we didn't have to go this far-"

"You wanted-"

"Yes, yes I wanted it. I've wanted it for years and years, it's the only reason I ever went to the tournaments, went after you so hard, but it didn't have to come this far, Kyo. You had every chance to stop. You didn't."

"You went to the tournaments to fucking kill people, Yagami."

"You really think that was me?"

"I watched you."

"That was the demon, Kyo, that, I never wanted that."

"Bullshit. And why do you insist on Kyo? You've got no right to call me that."

"We had sex, I can call you whatever I want."

"Don't do it."

"I'm going to."

Kyo sighed, shook his head. He pulled his clothes back on, shameless in letting Iori watch the trained, toned fighter's physique, muscles playing out over tanned skin, framing his body to the ideal of human perfection. His eyes fluttered shut, remembered vividly the way every muscle clenched, the way he shook when he became close, how Iori could feel his heart pounding against his chest. He was vaguely unaware that he was crushing the empty beer can in his hand, the cold metal of it tearing and biting into his hand. He didn't know if he was bleeding, and he didn't care.

Kyo couldn't look at him. Yes, he had led him on, betrayed him, tempted him and teased him with the one thing he knew Yagami wanted. Because he was a selfish bastard. He wanted him, without any strings attached, just to fuck him and take the kindness and the affection and offer him none of that in return. But wasn't he doing him a favor, offering him what he wanted, if only for a short while? No, he was doing it for himself entirely, tempting him with the one thing he wanted, just for those few moments, the only ones he ever had, of being truly loved. But he could never love Yagami in return, he knew this, but he wasn't sure he believed it. He couldn't love Yagami, for all the right reasons, an enemy, a demon, a murderer, another man, nothing socially acceptable whatsoever about the beautiful man. He could never bring him out, he could never meet the family, they would be stared at, talked about, harassed if they tried to do something so simple as go out for coffee. And the demon, the demon, that thing in Yagami that made him kill, that gave him the blue tint in their shared flame, it took his life just to keep it in this world, shortened it, he didn't have ten years left. Kyo wondered if he knew. He didn't live like he knew. His own father had likely died before he could tell him about the realities of the curse, too busy filling him with the rage and hatred he needed to single-mindedly pursue Kyo as he had done.

And then stopped.

So abruptly, he had stopped his attempts at killing him. He had still hunted him down, of course, of course, but there was no murderous intent. He did his duties at the tournament, but the violence was replaced by a too calm sarcasm, a sense of being finished with all of this, cold cruelty to everyone besides. A few years ago, Kyo realized, killing him had ceased to matter to Yagami at all. Kyo still wanted it, of course he still wanted it, it was his life's purpose to take this man out of the world, to kill that demon his family had done the deal with so long ago none of the survivors remembered why. And to get rid of this, Yagami had to die. Sick, strange thing was, Kyo realized, he could do it right then. He could have his hands around Yagami's throat, he could rip the last life from his body at that moment, and there would be no one to see, no one to care that he was dead. He could do home and be the hero, his father would be proud of him, finally, and that demon would be gone.

Yagami would be gone.

Kyo wasn't sure he could live with that.

Kyo laid back on the bed. It was almost certainly old, the way the springs protested to all weight, dipped in the same position as Yagami slept. The sheets were clean, but a mottled yellow that would never come out, once white, a few blankets, mismatched flea market finds, piled on the floor, covered in orange cat hair, the animal in question slept in their center. They had forgotten the blankets, like that morning's rain. He felt the bed dip, the springs squeaked, Yagami had sat down near him. A strong hand brushed away his hair, ran his fingers down his face. Kyo arched against the touch, compulsively. Yagami kissed him, gently, a touch of lip to lip, Yagami leaning down over his body, so Kyo can feel the heat radiating off of him. Kyo wanted to push him away, he wanted to shove Yagami into the opposite wall and throw so much fire there was nothing of Yagami left to bring to the Kusanagi clan, to prove his victory.

But he couldn't move.

He let Yagami kiss him, brush his lips over Kyo's face, his earlobe, down his throat. His hand brushed down Kyo's arm, traces his fingers, cupped his hip. There was no sexuality to his touches, no further desire, just to touch Kyo. Just to worship this body. He lifted Kyo into his arms, nuzzle against the side of his neck, his shoulder. He held Kyo close, the warmth of his body, Kyo could almost feel the affection, the obsession with Kyo that Yagami held so dear. Kyo let him. Yagami pulled Kyo against him, and he fell naturally into his lap, his hands on Yagami's strong arm, draped over him. The position was a real to them as breathing, as comfortable as anything else. It felt right. Kyo had never felt so natural in someone's arms as this. She was not as soft, as warm and welcoming. When he held her, she squirmed back against him, wouldn't let him. Yagami, Iori, he wrapped one arm around him and held on like he was made to.


	11. Chapter 11

Brown eyes met a strange red, and a smile ran its way across Yagami Iori's face. Kyo so rarely saw him smile, it softened his features and brightened him, and in the situation he was finally able to watch him. It wasn't the hardened, cruel laughing smile everyone saw, it wasn't the cold or the sarcasm. This was Yagami Iori himself, unguarded, uncovered, smiling. He wasn't hiding from anything at that moment, least of all Kyo.

"I love you." Deep voice, whispers, he was right beside Kyo's ear. His head had found his way beside him, against his shoulder, warm breath, warm body.

"You can't."

"I know. But I do."

"Yagami, don't tell me this." He pushed Yagami away, sat far from him, at the end of the bed, the sheets tangled in his clenched fists. "You can't tell me this now, you can't love me, you don't. You just," Kyo paused to breathe, "don't."

"I guess I don't." Yagami's eyes flickered away, that smile of careless abandon long gone, and the shadows painting his face again.

"You can't."

"You're right. I can't, this is wrong, Kyo."

"Whadyou' think I've been trying to tell you?" Kyo's eyes narrowed harsh.

"That I can't love you."

"Just don't tell me!"

"Its too late."

"Yeah, now it is."

Yagami sighed, shook his head, backed to the other end of the bed. Trace scars lined his pale, strong chest, the one on his hip, a pale line dividing his chest, his jeans were undone at the button. Scant, dark auburn hairs fined up to his navel. Kyo watched him stretch, sigh, and curl into himself. The cat leaped onto the bed, rubbed his head against Yagami's leg. He reached one hand down and scratched behind the animal's ears, making it purr happily. The only one in the room who was. Yagami watched the animal, his eyes cast down and far away from Kyo.

"I need to leave."

"Bus stop's two blocks away. Don't get the car for another week."

"Take me there."

"Tomorrow. I have to close at the shop tonight, gotta' be there another hour."

"You have time to take me to the bus."

"You'll tell me to ride it with you."

"Yeah."

Yagami stretched, his head fell into his hands, broad shoulders heaved, he wasn't about to take Kyo anywhere, and he knew that. They both knew that. Too much had been said already, that could never be unsaid. Kyo stood, crossed the room, his hand on the doorknob. And stopped. Yagami, Iori, didn't look up. He sat there, his hand gently draped over the cat, the other covering his face, shoulders slumped, undone and betrayed and all these things Kyo could read off of him without trying. All these things he was broadcasting to Kyo whether he wanted to be or not. He knew Yagami altogether too well, it wasn't as though he wanted to know these things.

"You're not going to stop me?"

Yagami shook his head no.

"Good." But he didn't leave still. Tried to make himself push the door open, tried to make himself leave, tried to leave Yagami Iori and that damned ugly cat and that single room and that single encounter they had, only hours past and so strong in their minds they would never acknowledge it. To do so might kill them both. He tried to leave, and his body stopped him, something in him prevented him from turning the doorknob, making his way to the bus stop he had been promised, going home and making up some excuse as to why he had been gone all this time.

He ended up sitting alone in the evening, playing games while the cat licked a dinner plate clean of all scraps of food still on it. Yagami was off to work, had been gone some time, Kyo had left him food sitting on the counter, he couldn't work out with himself why, or didn't want to admit to himself what it was, a gesture of kindness, perhaps a gratitude for their encounter, for letting him stay for so long. A gesture of care for him.


	12. End

"You didn't leave." He was standing in the doorway, wearing the apron of the music store he worked in, his name tag read only his first name. Not out of a sense of familiarity with his customers, but rather, he actually had given up his surname. This was the first Kyo had actually believed it, that nametag, the harsh black kana, "Iori." Simple enough to be mistaken for a family name, Kyo supposed.

"Couldn't. Don't know where the bus stops."

"I told you."

Kyo huffed, turned off his game. He turned to Yagami. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Fuck me."

"You wanted it."

"So did you."

"I wanted to bring you, pleasure, I guess, I wanted you, you're beautiful, you don't want me to say it."

"That really why?"

"Yeah."

"Pathetic sap."

"Heartless bastard."

"Y'gotta' be."

Kyo watched him approach, sinking into the couch beside him. His legs string towards the bed, long enough to prop them up on the foot of the bed, his head on the back of the couch. Kyo's hand sought out, flicked the long sheen of hair away from his face, exposing the small scar underneath his eye. Kyo kissed it. Yagami glanced up and their lips collided, this time needing it, wanting it from each side, their tongues met for too short a moment, and Kyo sat up, flicking the television on, ignoring Yagami.

Iori watched his mindless concentration on some technicolored game show, a man in a chicken suit trying to pop balloons with the chicken claws. The computer female voice counted down the timer. Kyo didn't care about these things, he wanted something to think about besides Iori. Besides kissing Iori. He could see it in the knit of Kyo's eyebrows, in the way he bit at his lower lip, wouldn't look at him. Iori could read his expression like his mind, and he moved, running two fingers along the seam on the outside of his jeans. Kyo shifted uncomfortably, moving one leg over the other, turning away from Iori. Iori let him. He let him think, hold his own arms, his face a mask of concentration and mixed feelings. Iori couldn't help him, he had figured that part already, he had to let him work through what they felt for each other entirely on their own. Kyo's hand drifted to the space of couch between them, fingers spread, Iori imagined them deliciously rough over his skin, and moved his hand over. Neither moved, allowed the slight touch, proof that in that moment everything had changed between them. Iori's fingers curved around Kyo's, he let his eyes flutter shut, buried in thought, in the hope this had changed for the better.

Kyo stayed. Inexplicably, he stayed longer, showed no desire to return to his family or his normal life. But their intimacy didn't change, never grew, their touches were frustratingly infrequent. Iori found himself every morning making good friends with his right hand in the bathroom, biting his lower lip, to keep from knowing sounds. Kyo slept in his bed. No announcement was made, no decision, nothing was said of the matter except that Kyo slept there. He wasn't close to Iori, it wasn't affectionate, he kept to himself, curled into his own body, at the end of the bed. He would let Iori touch him occasionally, run his hand down Kyo's shoulder, the back of his neck, the curve of his hip, and he would be allowed but not encouraged.

And he was okay with that.

He would continue to be okay with that, he would whisper his loves late into the night, against the soft, thin brown hairs at the nape of Kyo's neck, holding on to his arms, pretending, imagining there was love left over for him.


End file.
